


No Tomorrow

by not_sfw



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23987392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_sfw/pseuds/not_sfw
Summary: For the 48th time, Jon wakes up to golden sunlight on his face. He never thought he would despise sunlight and morning so much, but after so many times waking up to the same eventuality, he had learned to regret ever blinking his eyes open.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 10
Kudos: 74





	No Tomorrow

“All I’m saying, Jon, is that you don’t have to be such a grinch,” Martin remarks, but his eyes glimmer with mirth. “It’s the holidays! You know, this is why everybody thinks you’re 100 years old. And a murderer.”

Jon rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t deny it. Cold winds bite at their flushed cheeks as they walk down the street. It’s December 23rd, and their third holiday season together. He was grateful for the time off from the university, despite his not exactly ‘jovial’ attitude towards Christmas. Truthfully, he didn’t get the amount of decorum surrounding the season. He hadn’t ever had reason to celebrate it, seeing as he lived alone. Even growing up, with a reluctant guardian Christmas was no different than any other day of the year. He wouldn’t lie, he was thankful when he had first found out that Martin celebrated Hanukkah instead. But it hadn’t deterred his boyfriend’s festive attitude. Jon was a firm believer that the number of ugly holiday sweaters one man can own should be capped at 7.  After almost 3 years of dating though, Jon had gotten used to his boyfriend’s antics. He hadn’t even complained that much when Martin had presented him with a hand-knitted pair of gloves that morning. It was hard to not smile when Martin had explained that between the two of them, they only needed one glove each. The warmth of holding hands would keep the other hand perfectly toasty. Martin’s cheeks were pleasantly flushed when he had announced that and Jon had kept the eye-rolling to a minimum when he slipped on the dark green glove. 

And Martin wasn’t wrong. As they strolled down the street, fingers entwined, Jon could tell that the warmth traveling up his arm and nestling into his chest stemmed from the hand holding his own. He had a smile involuntarily curve his lips and burrowed deeper into the scarf around his neck. Another gift from Martin, though this one wasn’t to be shared between them. Not that it would be that hard or unpleasant. It would be easy to just unwind it and wrap it around Martin’s neck too. The thought lingered on his mind when Martin suddenly stopped walking, the hand holding his squeezing slightly.  Jon looked up to see the sidewalk blocked up ahead by some utterly unremarkable men. They seemed to be talking amongst themselves, though by the look on some of their faces it wasn’t a pleasant conversation. Still, they didn’t look sideways at him or Martin. Jon looked over, catching Martin’s eye and raising an inquiring eyebrow. 

“I-... I think we should go another way.” Martin finally said, eyes concerned and betraying his worry. His beanie was pulled down past his ears- his hair was getting long, it was due time for a trim for both of them. “I have a bad feeling. They don’t look happy.” Jon contemplated the words, trying not to dismiss them outright. It wasn’t that Martin’s anxieties weren’t justified. But the only other way back to their apartment was a 20-minute longer walk, and Jon was nothing if not an efficient man. 

“It’ll be fine, Martin.” Jon said, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand reassuringly. He tried to convey confidence in his voice, but it didn't seem to entirely reassure Martin. The older man gave a tight smile back though, before taking a deep breath as they started walking again.  No sooner than they had walked past the group there was a commotion behind them. Martin’s intake of breath was quickly covered by the sounds of shouting and fists on flesh. Jon’s brain stuttered as he turned to look behind them. It was as if the confrontation was in slow motion, as he watched the two sides of men mesh together into a crowd of writing people and thrown punches. He felt frozen in fear. Martin tugged on his arm, mouth forming soundless words, but the static in Jon’s ears was too much. He should’ve listened to Martin. He should-

There was a glint of gunmetal in his vision, Martin’s hands warm on his shoulders, and then the static gave way to the pop of gunfire.  _ Like tapping on a table _ , Jon’s brain supplies. Martin was screaming from behind him, begging him to run. Jon turned back to look at his frantic boyfriend, and then something whizzed past his ear and buried itself in Martin’s chest.  The punched-out rush of air leaving Martin’s lungs was, for the moment, the only indication that anything had happened. Then the screaming. Martin’s hands slackened from their bruising grip on Jon and he stumbled back, one hand coming up to press at the hole in his torso. Then he fell.  Suddenly, the only people in the world were him and Martin as Jon threw himself to the ground next to his boyfriend. His hands shook and stuttered above Martin’s body as the man wheezed, eyes panicked and fixed on Jon’s mouth. Belatedly, Jon realized that he was the one screaming. 

With effort, he stopped himself. “F-fuck, Martin, you’re fine. It’s okay. Fuck!” He croaked frantically, hands settling on the wound. Pressure, that’s what he needed. Jon could do that. He pushed down and winced as Martin whimpered, tears springing to his eyes. Martin’s own hands scrambled for purchase as he lay on the cool concrete, one clawing at the asphalt and the other reaching for Jon. He didn’t pay any mind to the deep dark blood that seemed to have seeped into every pore of it. 

“Jon, J-Jon. I- I don’t-... It hurts, Jon.” He wheezed, before attempting to sit up. Jon pressed down harder, hoping to stop his beautiful, stubborn boyfriend from sitting up. The dark blood slowly flowed from around his hands, disregarding the pressure he was applying. 

“No! Don’t sit up, Martin, it’s fine. Don’t look- It’s all okay. I- Martin, I-... Just keep breathing. They’re coming, do you hear the sirens?” Jon begged, trying to catch Martin’s eyes. They were still the same warm brown they had always been, but Jon could tell as he looked into them that Martin wasn’t fully there. He felt hot tears track down his wind cooled cheeks and drop onto the tops of his hands. 

“P-please don’t cry,” Martin gasped, one shaking hand reaching for Jon’s cheek. It didn’t quite reach. “Don’t stop talking, Jon, please. I wanna hear your voice when- when I-“ Martin’s bottom lip quivered, his face pale. A stark contrast against his normally tan skin and black hair. He coughed then, a ragged, rattling thing, and Jon closed his eyes to avoid seeing the blood it speckled on his chin. 

“Don’t finish that sentence, Martin Blackwood.” Jon says, and it comes out harsher than he meant it. His hands shake, pressed against Martin’s abdomen. He wracks his brain for something, anything that’s not  _ he’s dying, he’s dying and it’s your fault.  _ “D-do you remember me telling you about timelines? For every decision we make, there’s a divergence. If we had taken the other route, maybe...” He feels sick. “If we had a story in this timeline...” He’s talking with his hands slick and covered in his boyfriend’s blood. It feels wrong. “I think we do, have a story that is. I think that we still do. So don’t you dare go. I mean it, Martin. We can’t end our story here.” He knows he’s rambling, but he can’t stop the words from pouring past his quivering lips without permission. 

Martin takes a wispy breath, hand stilling from its position on the ground. “J-Jon. If there really are... other timelines, other universes.. one where this didn’t happen?” He says, voice shaky, and his hands lift to settle on top of Jon’s. “One where we lived and got to love and- and I got t’ stay. If that exists... That’s the one I want to be in. That’s where I hope I wake up.” He exhales, the words trailing out of him. His energy seems to wane, and Jon knows what it means. 

“I love you. Martin, please. I love you, I love you, don’t go- don’t-“ He begs, but he knows there’s nothing he can do. He’s being selfish. And he supposes he always knew, from the second he saw the metal. Martin’s chest rises and falls painfully with breaths hard-fought, and Jon lifts his hands from the wound. He meets Martin’s eyes, before leaning down and pressing his lips against the pale, cold ones of his boyfriend. Soft, shallow puffs of breath hit his face as he pulls away, ignoring the metallic taste of his lover’s blood in his mouth. 

“You can go, Martin. It’s okay.” He wills himself to say, smiling gently down at Martin with a finality that kills him. His boyfriend’s white lips pull into a weak smile. Jon sees as the life leaves Martin’s eyes and his chest stills. 

And then Jon lets himself wail, the sound coming out unbidden and animalistic. He doesn’t know how long he sits there clinging to the cold, limp body of the love of his life. He’s numb and fights viciously against the hands that eventually pull him away from his boyfriend- his boyfriend’s lifeless body.  He’s toted to the back of an ambulance and checked over for wounds but he knows he’s unharmed. All the blood covering his clothes belonged to Martin. He knows he’s being spoken to, but can’t bring himself to meet anybody’s eyes or to speak. They take him to the hospital, where he’s placed in a bed with a scratching blanket draped over his shoulders. At some point through the stay, two officers come. He catches clips of conversation, and the words ‘ _ unfortunate accident’ _ , ‘ _ wrong place wrong time’  _ before he’s stumbling, snarling and lunging at one of the cops. After that, he’s handcuffed to the cot. He doesn’t care. Don’t they know that he doesn’t care?

He has no idea how long he’s been there before someone is lightly touching his head. He looks to see Georgie, a gentle hand carding through his limp curls. Her face is solemn, swollen eyes red-rimmed and heavy with sorrow and pity. He doesn’t hear a word she says but goes with her as he walks him out of the ER, letting him lean heavily on her. She doesn’t try to talk anymore, just sits him in the passenger side of the car before driving them home in silence.  He’s glad to see that she’s taking them to her house. He doesn’t think he could face going to- his ( _ their) _ apartment yet. His hand clenches, the feeling of his one knitted glove grounding him as they pull into her driveway. They had tried to take the blood-covered mitten at the hospital but had quickly learned better when Jon had cornered himself like a wounded animal.  He doesn’t have the energy to speak when Melanie meets them at the door, enveloping him in a warm hug. It’s entirely unlike her, and yet he knows this situation is entirely unlike anything they’ve ever known before. He lets himself be guided into the guest room. And when he falls on the bed, Jon closes his eyes and imagines this was all some terrible nightmare. 

When he opens his eyes again, he’s warm. When he stretches, his muscles don’t scream at him and his clothes aren’t stiff with dried blood. And there’s a warm body next to him, a shape and temperature he knows very,  _ very _ well.  Jon sits up, stock-straight, staring down at Martin’s body. Martin’s very alive, breathing, sleeping body. His hands lift, hover, flail, but Martin doesn’t disappear. Instead, he shifts, wriggling closer to Jon, seeking. 

“Jon, lay back down.” He slurs, face pressed against his pillow and Jon can’t help but shake, mouth open with no words coming. Martin peeks open one intelligent brown eye ( _ oh how he had missed them _ ) and takes in his boyfriend’s appearance before sitting up groggily, rubbing one fist against his other eye and stifling a yawn. “What’s wrong?” He says, one hand reaching up to cup Jon’s cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear. “Are you alright?”

Jon can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed by his lip quivering and the tears leaving trails on his face. He leans forward, gently gathering his boyfriend into his arms and pressing his ear against Martin’s chest. The heart inside beats steadily, unperturbed by Jon’s behavior. 

“I, um.” He clears his throat. His voice sounds wrecked and Martin’s hand comes up to card through his hair. “I had a nightmare. That’s all.”

He can practically hear Martin’s frown, but he also knows his boyfriend won’t push him to speak. Martin’s arms cradle Jon to his chest, enveloping him in a warmth he had thought he had lost. Jon’s throat closes at the thought. “Do you- can we just stay home today?” He croaks, closing his eyes and just breathing Martin in. 

“Oh! Of course, Jon. Whatever you need.” He sounds confused, but Jon doesn’t want to talk about it. Martin slowly leans back, bringing Jon down with him until they’re laying down again, Jon sprawled on top of Martin, with his heartbeat still steady in his ear.  Slowly, with beams of golden light filtering through the curtains, Jon drifts back to sleep in the arms of his beloved. When h e blinks his eyes back open and he’s alone. Panicked, Jon scrambles his way up, startling at the slight crunch of paper under his hand. Lifting the note, his heart rate settles down. 

Dearest Jon,

You were really upset this morning and looked as if you could use the sleep. I’ve popped down to the bakery to get us some drinks and pastries for breakfast. 

I’ll be back soon. 

Love, Martin. 

PS. I left you a gift on the desk. Hope you like it ♡ 

Jon smiles, tracing a finger over Martin’s familiar script. He lays back down, blinking slowly and turns his head to breathe in Martin’s pillow when he spots it. 

On the desk, neatly stacked, were gloves. Dark green, hand-knitted gloves and Jon knew that there was only one pair. ‘ _ So we can hold hands’,  _ Martin’s voice echoes in his head. Jon’s chest tightens and he suddenly can’t breathe. He staggers over to the gloves, feeling the soft knit against his finger pads. It had to be a coincidence. It had to be.  Jon startled at the sound of sirens outside, blaring past his apartment. A deep feeling of apprehension and understanding fills his body, and he aches. Stumbling out of the bedroom, he slips some shoes on and bursts out of the apartment, hearing the door click closed behind him. He’s running, paying no mind to his thin sleep shirt and box combo, or that the shoes were on the opposite foot. He ran until the cold air burnt his throat and his lungs screamed for more, and he ran until he reached the ambulance. 

He already knew what he’d find. He looked at the blood, seemingly everywhere, with fuzzy vision. He could hear snatches of conversation, could piece together what had happened.  _ Robbed _ and  _ stabbed _ stood out. It made no sense; he knew Martin never carried more than his card on him. He didn’t know why somebody would- just..-

There was a box of pastries on its side, the contents spilling onto the street. Blood soaked into a corner of it. He was almost certain there was an almond croissant for himself and 3 peanut butter biscuits in there for Martin.  Jon turned around abruptly, walking back to the apartment numbly. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be another dream. A dream inside of a dream. That could happen, he was sure of it. That had to be the explanation. Not that he was reliving the day the love of his life died over and over again for- what? Some cruel god to get its kicks.  Jon felt anger well up inside of him. He was just a philosophy professor and Martin was in a program for a doctorate in psychology after a late start. They were normal, they were happy.  Jon stood in their bedroom, gazing blearily at the rumpled bed. Slowly, he approached the gloves on the desk. Picking them up, he slips one onto his left hand. He screws his eyes shut tightly. If there was a way, any way, that this was real and he had woken up on the same day this morning... 

Well, he had to give it another shot. 

Warmth gripped his right hand and traveled up, nestled into his chest and around his heart, and when he blinked his eyes open again, he was right back in bed, with golden light filtering through. He didn’t need to look to confirm that Martin was behind him, peacefully slumbering.  Silently, he cries. Looking through blurring eyes, his hands are bare. He shifts, turning in bed to stare at Martin’s face. His eyes trace it, the way he had so many times before. His cheeks, the light beauty mark under his right eye, his ridiculously long and dark eyelashes.  He loved him and he wasn’t ready to lose him again. He lifts a hand to brush gently against Martin’s temple, pushing a strand of dark hair back. Martin’s eyebrows furrowed and he nuzzled into Jon’s palm. Slowly, his brown eyes open. 

“G’morning, love.” He whispers, voice rusty with sleep. He presses a gentle, too soft kiss to Jon’s palm before snuggling in closer to the man himself.

Jon couldn’t cry. He didn’t have it in him. And so he just smiled at his boyfriend and leaned forward to press a sweet, chaste kiss against his warm lips.  “Good morning, my darling.”

The morning is utterly boring, and utterly the same. Jon isn’t surprised when Martin presents him with the dark green knitted gloves. He manages to show enough positive emotion to throw Martin off the scent of his misery, though, and he’s grateful to not worry the man.  He knows now that staying inside won’t stop it, and he knows he couldn’t stop Martin from doing something if he set his mind to it. So when Martin suggested, as he had that first day, to go on a stroll through the park, Jon agreed.  He spent the whole time paranoid, side-eyeing every sharp-looking sign and low-hanging branch, and once even glaring at a dog so much that it had turned tail and fled. If Martin noticed his mood, he didn’t comment on it. He had long since learned that Jon had to work through things before speaking them. 

“Let’s take the long way home, yeah?” Jon said as they got ready to head home. Martin looked over curiously, but Jon’s face betrayed nothing. Jon knew that they were both usually keen to get home the fastest route possible, but Martin didn’t seem to mind. He smiled and nodded, and Jon gives his hand a little squeeze. The dark green glove on his other hand seemed heavy.  They had almost made it home when there was a noise of squealing tire on asphalt. Jon’s heart stopped cold, and he turned around to see the spun-out car coming straight towards them. Martin froze, right in the path, and Jon knew that he wasn’t fast enough to stop it as Martin’s hand was yanked from his own and the car made its impact. 

Jon closes his eyes. 

He opens them, sick of the ray of golden sunlight that trickled onto his face. He never thought he would hate sunlight or warmth or morning, but as long as he was stuck in this sick loop, he would despise waking up. 

Two more cars, another shooting, another stabbing, twice there was a fire, one time there was a stray piece of sheet metal from a truck, and another time the dog he had once glared at saw a fit opportunity to strike. 

14 pairs of gloves. 

One time he told Martin the truth. He had solemnly believed him and then promptly got electrocuted in the shower. 

29 pairs of gloves. 

A loose tiger from the zoo. Strangulation. A very venomous spider. 3 severe allergies he had never had before. A poison mushroom. 

47 pairs of gloves. 

Every diverging path, every alternate timeline Jon felt himself create, something found a way to get to Martin. It felt hopeless. Jon felt his body held down by the weight of Martin’s life. But he wouldn’t give up. He would never give up on Martin. He would rather die trying. 

Blinking sleep from his eyes, he sits up for the 48th time. Martin slumbers unaware next to him. Jon rubbed a hand over his face, exhausted to the core. He turned to look down at Martin, feeling himself smile despite the situation. He loved it when Martin slept. His brow was relaxed, cheek smashed against the pillow he was drooling on. Hair stuck up every which way, and his eyelashes fluttered against his cheek. He looked peaceful.  Jon stood from the bed, quietly padding into the kitchen to start the kettle. He made their tea, a modest breakfast, pressed a kiss against Martin’s temple as he staggered in, lured by the smell of steeped tea and eggs. It was utterly usual. 

“What would you like to do today?” Martin asks, once they’ve had their fill and sat quietly, sipping their tea. Jon contemplated. If he had his way, they would stay home all day, cozy and content. But he knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long. 

“How about a walk through the park?”

The walk itself was unremarkable, and Jon used the comfortable silence between them as time to compile his thoughts. He had no strategy. He didn’t know how long he had been in the loop, he didn’t know how to end it. He let Martin guide them as he was stuck in his head. The warm at his side and the hand in his was a reassurance, but he was certain it wouldn’t be there for long. 

But then Jon looked up and suddenly stopped walking. The sidewalk up ahead was blocked by some utterly unremarkable men. They seemed to be talking amongst themselves, though by the look on some of their faces it still wasn’t a pleasant conversation. Jon looked over, catching Martin’s eye. His boyfriend looked unaffected. 

“I-... I think we should go another way.” Jon finally said. His mouth was dry and his pulse was pounding in his ears. 

“It’ll be fine, Jon. I promise.” Martin said, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand reassuringly. But Jon wasn’t swayed. All this death, watching Martin leave in flashes of pain and horror, it was getting to him. 

“Martin, I’m scared.” He whispered, voice cracking and eyes welling up. Martin startled, looking between him and the men. “I’m so scared. I have been for weeks or months or maybe years. I’m so afraid and I just want you.” He said, lip quivering dangerously. 

Martin’s eyes softened, though he still looked confused. “Jon, they’re just people.” He said, pressing in close and letting Jon’s hands curl in his outer coat. “They’re just people like you and I. I won’t let them hurt you. I’ll protect us. I promise.”

Jon took in a shaky breath. He wished he could tell Martin everything, but it was exhausting knowing it would just all be gone tomorrow. “Okay.” He whispered finally. “Okay, I trust you.”  Martin pressed a featherlight kiss on his forehead before entwining their hands and walking them both past the men. Jon winced, expecting loud voices and fists on flesh and gunmetal. But they were far past them and nothing sounded from behind them.  Jon was shocked, but not optimistically so. He knew the second he got his hopes up, something would come to crash them down... sometimes even quite literally. But they got home with seemingly no problems. Jon watched Martin’s every move, sat around nibbling his thumbnail, and was the one to operate all electrical equipment in the house. The air felt thick and Jon didn’t allow himself hope. Not even as he and Martin settled down for the night. Martin wore different pajamas and they had changed the sheets. 

Martin drifted to sleep quickly but Jon stayed up, watching the rise and fall of Martin’s chest and terrified for the moment it would inevitably stutter and stop. This was probably the worst one. To be wrapped in safety and still be helpless to watch Martin die.  Jon jumped at the chime and buzz of his wrist. The watch's bright numbers read midnight. Hi s mouth dropped open. He stared between his watch and Martin, convinced it was some cruel trick. It was half-past 1 when he finally drifted off. 

He woke to golden sunlight on his face and felt his heart sink. His eyes flooded over with tears. He hadn’t managed to fix it, it was just some cruel trick of his mind. 

“Jon?” Came the call from somewhere in their apartment, and Jon rallied himself, sniffing slightly and drying his tears with the blanket. The flannel blanket, that they had changed the bedding to last night.  Suddenly, Jon’s heart jolted. They had changed the sheets. He looked down at himself and realized he was wearing the pajamas he had gone to bed wearing last night. He scrambled out of bed, slipping on the hardwood until he slid out into the living area. Martin was in the kitchen, making tea. He was humming a holiday song. It was snowing outside. 

“Oh, Jon! I made tea. Happy Christmas Eve.” Martin said, turning to hand Jon his signature mug. But Jon just stared at Martin’s face in wonder. 

“It’s- it’s the 24th?” He stammered, looking all around the apartment. It had to be some type of practical joke, or Martin had gotten the date wrong. 

“Yup! I swear, this month always seems to go by so quickly.” Martin says, not disturbed by Jon’s odd behavior until the other man lets out a hysteria-tinged laugh and lunges at him, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s neck. Martin yelps, nearly dropping the tea. “J-Jon! Hold on, let me put these down!” He said, giggling and setting their mugs down before wrapping his arms around the other man. He had no idea what had gotten into him, but he wasn’t going to complain about the hug. 

But Jon pulled back too soon, eyes roaming all over Martin and hands coming up to cup his face. Martin flushed, unsure why he deserves the attention this morning. He was sure he looked a mess, with hair sticking up every which way in an unattractive manner. Still, Jon grinned, eyes shining.  “Marry me, Martin. Marry me, please.” He said, thumbs stroking over Martin’s cheekbones. Martin gasps, hands flying up to grip at Jon’s wrists. “I- I don’t have a ring. But I’ll get you one. Whatever you want. It’s utterly ridiculous that we’re not already married. I love you and I don’t want to let you go ever again.” Jon choked out around tears. Martin let his own tears fall. He had no idea what had gotten into this silly man, or what he meant by ‘again’. But he knew his answer regardless. 

“Yes. Of course, I’ll marry you!” He laughed around his hitched sobs and met Jon halfway for another tight hug, one that lasted way longer than the first. When they pulled back, they met eyes. Jon seemed tired and older, yet he looked the happiest Martin had even seen him. 

“Let’s stay in. Let’s stay in and order takeout, and marathon those movies you like. I have quite the story to tell you.” Jon said and Martin couldn’t help but believe him. And so they spent the day inside, snuggled close and watching the snow drift past their apartment window while they talked. They ate from takeaway cartons and marathoned their favorites. They shared lingering kisses and fell asleep on the couch. 

And it was completely and utterly remarkable. 


End file.
